Mark of the Heretic
by Evilgoodguy
Summary: A Sheikah cult has gotten their hands on a descendant of the Hero's bloodline.


Few knew to where the old cobblestone road lead. Most could not be bothered to find out. It was a weathered testament to Sheikah superstitions. At its end stood a fallen cathedral believed to be cursed. To those scarce souls who were familiar, it was a place all but forgotten. The rest of the world had moved on.

The sun was sinking into some invisible horizon. The forest around the road had already grown dark. Golden slivers of light still cut through the leaves to show the way, but they would stop soon enough.

Along this road, the Siren pulled her captive by a leash.

She was a notorious serial murderer who would walk the streets at night. When a man would take the Siren for a lady of the evening, she would play along. Then, upon reaching an inn room, or wherever it was the whore mongers would spend their nights, she would torture them until the sun chased away the dark of night when she would kill them. It was her way of purging the world of such perversions.

She was a tall scarlet-haired beauty. whose sexual appeal was matched only by her hatred for men, especially those driven by their own lust. Her captive was such a man, but he was different from the others. Women were his weakness, no doubt, but such men often caved when put into positions of submission. This man had never begged for his life at the Siren's mercy. For her, that was significant.

The Siren had been assigned by her sect to capture the a man who had possessed a piece of the sacred Triforce, a mythical item that can grant a wish unto any who touches it. He had matched all of the prerequisite signs. He frequently wore green clothing, had blondish-brown hair and blue eyes, was a Hylian, and belonged to a line of Heroes who had saved the kingdom of Hyrule several times across its long history. She had still yet to see whether or not he had the Triforce, but everything else matched up perfectly.

He had been a difficult catch since she took him from that inn room. He would curse at her and try to escape whenever she had her back turned. She never fought it too hard. She enjoyed catching him and dangling freedom just outside of his reach. By now, though, it was growing exhaustive. As much as she enjoyed playing with Mr. Hero, she still had a mission to finish and it was almost done. Her playtime had to end.

She held a piece of drugged meat to his mouth, but he refused to eat. He knew this food was poisoned. He probably didn't know just what kind of thing she wanted to feed him, but he was in no mood to answer that question. Throughout the trip, he had presumably been eating things he'd found when he escaped.

They had never bothered to learn one another's names. For all she cared, he may as well not have one. He had what she needed, and that was all she bothered to know. He apparently knew this, and would sooner starve than serve her purpose.

But he would have to eat soon. He was growing weak. Just yesterday, he would do whatever he could to try to break free from his ropes or simply run away from her. Today, he was largely cooperative.

She wondered what could have happened that changed his attitude between then and now. He would still send her his spiteful looks, but that was only natural. She had kidnapped him from his family after all. Perhaps he was driven by some morbid curiosity to see what she would do with him. Perhaps he had some kind of plan to escape. Both unlikely. He was probably just too weak to keep fighting, and had resigned himself to some unknown fate.

"You may as well eat," she told him as she held up the food again. "We'll be at the temple tomorrow. Even starvation won't kill you by then, so quit fighting it."

Mr. Hero's eyes shifted to the jerky. His ears drooped. He wanted to eat, but not that. He would sooner keep eating whatever he was eating in the wild than that. His lips quavered. Under any other circumstance, it would have looked good, even delicious. His mouth opened ever so slowly to accept for his body what his mind had so sternly rejected.

He stopped. Hesitation shut his mouth. After a sigh, his eyes moved to his captor. The Siren's red Sheikah eyes sparkled with anticipation as a cruel smile stretched across her face. He knocked the jerky from her hands with his shoulder.

The Siren's smile was replaced by irritation. She swung her foot up between his legs, digging a pointed shoe into his lineage. He fell to his knees, but was not ready to taste the stones on the road. As she was picking the meat from the dirt, he caught her off her guard.

"What are you going to do with me?" he asked.

She paused. He hadn't said a word to her, cursing aside, since she pulled him from the inn room. That was understandable. He had no wife, but two kids at home. She had left them both to survive without their father. But he now felt some urge to ask her what she had planned for him all along.

The Siren straightened herself. With a haughty smirk, she turned about. He held a firm stance even with his hands tied. She stepped closer to him, until she was looking a full six inches down to his eyes. Still nothing. He was certainly the Bearer of Courage that she needed.

Her smirk twisted into a grin. She wanted to try to break his spirit, just so she could kill him. Even if he was the object of her mission, he had become a pest. He should have been the Siren's second most satisfying kill. "All you need to know is that you won't be seeing your kids," she told him

He raised his left brow. "Really? Then why can't you tell me?"

"Oh, I can. I just don't want to." the Siren playfully walked her fingers up his chest, "After all, why spoil the fun?" She knew better than to expect the same reaction from him that she got last time she did this. But she had no intention to seduce him now.

When one hand had finished its walk to his shoulder, her other hand glided to his opposing elbow. With a simple jerk, she was facing his back. Were he faster, he would have turned himself back around. He wasn't that fast. She had already snapped one of his fingers.

The man's scream rent the silence of the otherwise peaceful forest, down the old cobblestone road, almost certainly to the temple. The rippling feel that coursed through her body, which in others would have been desire, for her was a deep fear and hatred . His very maleness a sin to her eyes. Her dominance of such men was her greatest comfort.

The Siren quieted Mr. Hero with the drugged meat. He tried to struggle to spit it out, but her hand held him shut. He could now tell just what kind of poison it was: tranquilizer. Nevertheless, he kept struggling. He wanted to break free. He needed to break free. Whatever it took to get rid of the poison, to escape the Siren's grasp, to see his kids again. His struggle fell to a squirm. He was growing heavy in his own body and even heavier in her arms. A few more seconds passed, and he was forced to sleep.

The sun had almost set. From what little light was left in the forest, it may as well already have. The Siren's captive was now asleep. With only a few miles left to go before reaching the temple, there was no point in dragging a weight like him through the lightless woods. The ritual could wait one more day.

The Siren sat down on the dirt next to the road. She plucked a vial that she kept disguised as her left earring. It contained a sleeping agent; not the same thing she gave to the man but somewhat similar. If she were to sleep on this ground tonight, she would certainly need it.

With a few drops on her fingertips, the Siren rubbed her eyes. Within seconds, a warmth spread from within her chest. Her eyelids weighed themselves closed. She slept well that night.

The Siren and her prey arrived at the clearing of the ruined temple shortly after noon that day. The drug was still strong in his system. He was awake and could even walk, but that was the extent of it.

The temple had been largely abandoned for the last two decades. It looked like it had been longer, but not without reason. By now, the mighty buttresses were all but gone. A massive willow grew from the interior and filled in a hole in the roof. Vines draped the marble walls, creeping inside where the stained glass windows had once adorned the place. Grass carpeted places where grass would usually not grow. Time had been especially unkind to this temple, yet its massive weathered doors beckoned to be opened and explored.

A different man stood at the entrance of this once-great monastery. He was Verbio, known by some as the Black Fog, a master assassin and one of the original members of the same sect to which the Siren belonged. Over his head he held a black cape to shield his sensitive skin from the midsummer sun.

The Siren approached the crumbling threshold under which Verbio waited, proudly pushing Mr. Hero before her. The man was little more than a prize catch to her, and she was not afraid to show it. Verbio slunk under the threshold when he saw her. He could not inspect the catch without dropping his cape, and did not need the sun burning him as he did.

When the Siren had crossed the threshold of the temple she pushed her prey to his knees. Verbio's ears perked. Pride was building in her chest. This was her biggest mission yet, and she was careful not to get lost in her routine and kill her victim.

"Good afternoon, Ellif," he greeted with a bow.

"Verbio," she returned his bow, "I did it."

"I see that."

Ellif's face lit up. She had been waiting for this mission for most of her life. It was pulled off without a hitch. As far as she was concerned, the ritual itself could wait. "I'm guessing you heard me last night," she said to Verbio.

He crossed his arms, "How could I not? He even woke Gigol." Verbio began to inspect Mr. Hero, "Are you sure he's the right one?"

"Yes."

"Let me see his hands."

Ellif gingerly unbound Mr. Hero's wrists. She had no reason to fear retaliation from him. The drug was too strong for that. She clenched his left hand to show Verbio this man's qualifications.

Verbio frowned, "Well, where is it?"

Ellif's stomach dropped. The mark was nowhere on this hand, or the other hand for that matter. But he was the one! He had to be!

"Don't worry," Verbio chuckled, "We did some research while you were gone. The Triforce only shows if there's another piece nearby."

Instead of laughing, Ellif punched Verbio in the shoulder.

"What?" he said in playful defense, "It's not like it matters whether or not he has it."

She punched him harder.

"Look," he explained, "We just wanted this guy to get two birds with one stone, understand? We can still do the ritual with just about anyone, but at least with this bastard, there's a chance he'll pass on his piece of the Triforce." Verbio looked down and smiled, "Tell me. Exactly how did you get him?"

Ellif arched her brow, "You know how I work."

"True, but he's got the Heroes' blood. He's supposed to be virtuous."

"The man likes streetwalkers. I know it's not the most virtuous thing to a fan of, but he still fought me the whole trip. He wanted to see his kids again. Getting to him was the easy part. It was taking him here that was. . ." her fingers ran through her hair, "Well, that was pretty easy, too. You know I like to play with my food."

"You still took his money, right?"

She knew where he was going with this. Verbio had been trying to bed her for years, but his efforts yielded nothing. She had her reasons for turning him down, and he understood that. However, Verbio did not climb his way through the ranks of his assassin's guild by being impatient. Ellif donned a flirtatious smile, "Well of course. I always do."

Verbio lowered his head to make himself look more dangerously attractive, a technique that usually worked for him, but never on Ellif. "How much did he have?"

Ellif was going to answer, but Verbio interrupted, "Better yet, how much was he willing to pay?"

Ellif's smile grew across her face. She did find Verbio somewhat attractive, but only physically. Were he not instrumental in having Father Nagono adopt her thirteen years ago, she would have no reason to think of him as very different from Mr. Hero. Truth be told, he probably wasn't. She chuckled a bit, "Not even you, Verbio."

He dropped his head, hanging it as if by string, "Curses," the gesture seemed to say, "You've bested me yet again. But, I will have you someday."

She had no idea why she imagined him talking like that.

Verbio pushed open the imposing temple doors. Sunlight shone hazily through the few stained and dusty windows which remained. The pews which had lined the chapel had broken and decayed. The willow's roots were firmly planted in the pulpit.

He progressed to the back of the temple. The tree's branches did nothing to stop his advance, as he swept them from his face.

"Well, come on," he said as he walked beneath the branches. "The others are waiting."

"Even Duarvo?" Ellif asked.

"Yes, even Duarvo."

She had no idea why she asked that. Of course everyone had to be there for the ritual. Still, she hated Duarvo.

Ellif stood her captive to his feet. He was a little more than a walking weight now. Were he not the Bearer of Courage, she would have gleefully killed him back at the inn room.

She led the still-incapacitated Mr. Hero to where Verbio walked. There, she descended into the basement below.

At the end of the torch-lit catacombs, Verbio creaked open a rotten door. Inside, Father Nagono and the rest of his followers had been waiting. Ellif knew them all very well, but with their burial shrouds on in this light, could only discern Gigol, who was a giant by any realistic standard, and the good Father himself, as he and Verbio were the only members of any normal height. Pix, her blood sister Feré, and Duarvo were all nearly the same height, but still around a foot below Ellif, who stood a full six.

Then, Duarvo's very androgynous voice shattered the silence of the catacombs, "So, the Halfie finally shows her face. Tell me, Halfie, what kept you so long?"

The words were nothing new. Duarvo had been belittling Ellif for years. He would chide her on about how her round Human ears made her unfit to bear her red Sheikah eyes. He had long since declared her mixed blood a stain upon the Sheikah race. With the years, his sharp tongue had dulled on her ears. Her short, round, Human ears.

She sneered, "Unlike you, Duarvo, I can play with my food and still get the job done. You should know that by now."

Duarvo glared at her like some dog who had bitten her master's hand, "But you're still playing! I could have had gotten him in three days. Tops." His arms crossed, "I still don't see why you get all the good jobs."

Ellif beamed. As much as she hated Duarvo, his jealousy was greatly amusing. She pressed her body against him, looking down into where his eyes would be under the blackness of his hood. "There's a certain appeal I have, Duarvo," she tauntingly slid her hand through her hair to reveal one of her ears, "that you don't."

Duarvo snapped, "What's that supposed to mean!"

Ellif uncovered her other ear, careful not to disturb the flower she kept in her hair, "I think you know, Duarvo."

With that, she turned about and stepped to the sacrifice, who had gone ignored for the last while. As she knelt to raise the rope, Duarvo threw her a comment. "Your st-"

But a hand had covered his mouth in time. Verbio leaned down to tell him, "Duarvo, you know where these arguments tend to lead. You also know what we think of that. We need everyone to be able to focus, and if you're going to say what I think you are, we're going to have to open a spot in the ritual where you used to be. Now, that wouldn't be a problem if Father could still say the chant, but he can't do that without his tongue, now can he?"

Duarvo sighed and nodded. Within this sect, invoking Father Nagono's name in an argument was almost always an assured victory. "Good," Verbio added. "Now be a good boy and get mine and Ellif's shrouds."

Duarvo rolled his eyes and muttered his racism, but did as he was told.

Meanwhile, Ellif had laid Mr. Hero prostrate on the altar. He lazily flailed his arms to stop her. The drug was loosening its grip on his mind. She saw this, and tied his limbs to the floor as quickly as possible.

Duarvo could not have fetched the shrouds soon enough. He probably took his time to annoy Ellif. Either way, for the first time she actually welcomed his presence. She was eager to start the ritual. They all were.

Once Ellif and Verbio had donned their robes, Father Nagono rested a hand on Sister Pix's shoulder. Pix adjusted her posture, "It's time. Gather round."

The Father stood to the side as the ritual began. The followers gathered along the circle in a pattern; Ellif stood to the right of Verbio, who stood to the right of his adoptive daughter Feré, who stood at the right of her ex-lover Duarvo, who stood to the right of young Sister Pix, who stood to the right of the titanic Gigol, who stood to the right of Ellif. They bowed their heads and clasped their hands in prayer. Together, they chanted:

"Ensem in casum habet

Quamquam hoc non est dominus eius in casum

Unum qui non possum pendere aspicere

Pictura eius recurata est graciae

Abita

Nullus vestigor

Odorosae lacrimae

Contentor"

It was an ancient language once spoken by the Sheikah, but long since forgotten. Only clerics still understood it. To the rest, the chant was a bunch of hollow syllables to memorize and recite. Nothing more.

"Illi infra alios futuri est fortes

Parva ursum praemavum incaute flammat

Altas coloratas paginas furit

Ipse infra locum and ex eum locum non adest in vegas.

Discedit et expedit.

Non manet

Dulces caveae avium canary coloratae fulgurante fuco cadentes cum udum forte callum fragunt

Nam aquilii nosi odorati qui coactu e nosis expirat et monstrat

Rebus pendentibus qui imitontur caenum...

Hoc tibi"

Sister Pix broke from the pattern and strode to the altar. From the arm of her shroud, she drew a knife. Ellif recognized the knife as one of Feré's. It was only visible for a second though, as it disappeared into the Bearer's throat.

For some reason, it bothered Ellif to see Pix kill a man. Sure, Ellif committed her first murder back when she was twelve, and Pix was sixteen. It was still an unsettling thing to witness.

"Caeruleum oppidum navium perpete cuditum basiationes reportatae ab anate dat

Tori et deceptores nosorum longorum tempore capere serum munus advenerunt

Curriculum cylindrorum alveari

Haec moratum adsumptum qui eam adsequi adfectat et deficit suspectat et sectotur

Impressum infra aram in amisso cello

Genus qui invenit quo tuum aenigmata ipsum memoras

Contrude sororem ad celeritatem ante eam in lodicem aurorae novae colorata similem lacti

Tua genera est gratia cuniculi contacti circorum modorum quorum convivum iter viriditati sine senio ponit

Ferre tuam virgam et echus conlapsorum spargentium anterioris noctis everrit... ab hoc..."

As blood flowed from the wound, Sister Pix returned to her spot between Gigol and Duarvo. It slid from the altar and touched the floor where it pooled. Light emanated from the lines of the pattern on the floor. It was no ordinary light. It was not white like the sun. It was not silver like the moon. It was something reddish, but had its own color that none present had ever seen.

Ellif glanced around to see everyone else's reaction. Something was wrong. The light looked bright enough to flood the room, but illuminated nothing. She felt a chill climb from her stomach up her spine. Though she couldn't see their faces, Ellif knew they felt the same fear she did.

Before long, the light climbed the sacrifice's blood and into his body. It pushed its way through his skin and covered his flesh. None could see what was becoming of him through the shine.

A familiar sound entered Ellif's head. It was torture. She was no stranger to it, but usually only heard it when she was flaying a man who mistook her for a streetwalker. This did not come to her ears; it was in her head. The voices took on the sound of the Siren's many victims, clawing at her mind.

Ellif's hands clasped themselves over her ears as her knees collapsed. Her breathing became erratic. She tried to scream, but choked on her own terror. She felt herself slipping away from her body.

The Siren felt the many men and women whose lives she'd taken pulling her into the earth, demanding that she join them in their torment. Their fiery hands lashed at her legs and climbed her body.

Ellif looked around. The flames were gone, but she was not in the temple. Wherever this was, it looked deathly familiar. It was a shoddy looking cottage. The furnace was still hot, but there was no fire, just a few glowing embers.

She began to inspect this one-room house. During her career as the Siren, she had seen numerous similar cottages but there had to be some kind of significance here. Whatever it was, she would find it.

There was a large white flower on the table. She recognized it as a keepsake from her late mom, Ilva. Her heart began to race. She remembered the last time she had spoken to her mom. It was how she learned about her mom's past; how Ellif was the result of a brief affair with a Human man who ran away when he heard the news, how her mother married a different man so she wouldn't have to raise Ellif alone, why that waste of sperm and eggs treated her and her mother the way he did.

All of her life, Ellif had kept this flower in her hair in memoriam of her mom. Yet, here it was on this table. She checked her hair, but didn't feel the flower. Her heart pounded in her chest as if it wanted to burst free and escape from this damned place. She wanted to go, but couldn't move her legs. This place had no business existing. She had burned it fifteen years ago. Yet, here it stood just as it was the day after Ilva died.

Ellif knew what was going to happen now. She had to get out as soon as she could. Just before she got to the door, it swung open. That man stood there, drunk as usual. Ellif reached for her whip. She had every intention to kill him the same way she had killed him before, but it was not at her side. She was a child again, no longer the infamous Siren. Twelve years old. Just as she was the day after her mom died. . .

"Ellif," a gentle voice urged her, "Ellif. Wake up."

Ellif pried her eyes open. Her vision was still blurry and her head was throbbing. Blue hair was brushing her face. It was Feré, no doubt. Pix's hair barely reached her clavicle, but Feré's was long enough to pass her knees.

"Ellif!" Feré exclaimed as she hugged her friend, "Are you okay?"

"I will be, but what happened?" Ellif sat up with her fingers pressed firmly in her forehead.

The room was better lit now. The altar was empty save a few ropes and the sacrifice's clothes. The rest of the sect stood around her, save Duarvo. Fuck Duarvo.

Father Nagono handed her a sheet of parchment. He could not speak since he had his tongue cut out, so he spoke through writing. It was the only way anyone would tolerate such a tedious method of communication. Ellif took the sheet and rubbed her eyes.

After consulting with the others and hearing their stories, I have concluded that what we have just witnessed may have been a glimpse of our personal Hells.

The ritual we performed was to release a man who went to Hell alive. As such, bringing him back to Earth was possible via the sacrifice of a strong soul. Due to his training in Hell, he may now be powerful enough to defeat the Dark Lord, Ganon Dragmire.

To summon him was to temporarily open a portal to Hell. As such, we were visited by the spirits of people who we have taken from Earth. The amount of damage done to us seems to be directly proportionate to the number of spirits we were visited by. Feré suffered no damage, because she has never killed. Ellif appears to have suffered worst, because she has killed well over a hundred men and women.

The nature of the visions we have received seems likely connected to the number/manner of sins we have committed and/or our deepest fears.

Well, no shit, Ellif thought as she handed the parchment back to the Father.

"Ooh!" Feré sharply stood up. She turned around and took a strange naked man by the arm, "Ellif, this is Dedrick. He's the guy we brought back."

Ellif got to her feet and turned her head. She had no interest in seeing a man's penis. She saw those enough during her murderous rounds. Even then, she never did anything with them. She'd just kill the fools attached. Across the room from Dedrick stood Duarvo. It was odd to see Duarvo distancing himself from Feré, instead of trying to get her back into their previous romantic/sexual engagement. Ellif was never sure just what it was they had.

Ellif turned back around to greet Dedrick, keeping her eyes locked above his head. She was able to do this. He was taller than Feré but still not very tall. Certainly no taller than Verbio or the Father like Ellif was.

She reluctantly extended a trembling hand to him. Indeed he was a man, but she would have to work with him. There was no use in holding a grudge against someone you worked with. Unless they hated you back. Fuck Duarvo.

For some reason, she half expected Dedrick to place his penis in her hand, but he didn't. He didn't even raise so much as finger to greet her. He just stared at her hand.

It was an awkward minute before Dedrick gave a slight bow. Ellif found this strange. She wasn't unaccustomed to bowing, but she had never seen anyone bow to a stranger. That was what handshakes were for. Bowing was for people you knew. Regardless, she returned it.

"Good noon milady," Dedrick said, "Art you the Siren of whom I have heard tell?"

"Y- yes," Ellif was far beyond disturbed, "How did you know?"

"Your ilk aside, your name be oft-heard in the Netherworld. For sooth, I have heard tell of most of thee."

He didn't speak like a demon from Hell, but a bad actor in an old play. Ellif understood some of it, but she never cared to learn about her 'thees and thous' in school. Father Nagono and Sister Pix probably understood all of it.

"I'm sorry," she said with her hands over her eyes, "but why are you talking like that?"

Dedrick gave Ellif a sharp look which made her throat tighten. Something about him was terrifying. Could be the Hell thing. That was probably it.

Since Dedrick had no use for words, Pix answered in his stead, "He comes from a different time. While he was in Hell, he probably learned some of our language as it developed."

Ellif slowly nodded her head, not losing eye contact with the abomination that stood before her. It wasn't that she didn't want to turn around and walk slowly away. He was peering into her soul, or so it felt. Then, she realized something. His ears were long, but his eyes were brown. He wasn't a Sheikah, but a Hylian.

She realized now why Duarvo was distancing himself from Feré for a change. Dedrick was a 'filthy Hylian' who had Duarvo's ex-lover wrapped around his arm for whatever reason. As amusing as she would normally find that, Ellif was doing all she could to pray Dedrick didn't rape her.

Gigol stood next to Ellif and this abomination unto the gods. "Um, Feré," He said awkwardly, "Why don't you go get Mr. Dedrick some clothes?"

Feré smiled, "Okay," she turned to Dedrick, "Come on, let's get you dressed."

She took him by the arm. He followed her out of the room without a word. Ellif took a deep sigh in relief.

Verbio turned to Duarvo, "Something wrong, Duarvo?"

"No, fine." That was a lie. Everyone knew he was thinking about Feré.

"Well," Verbio spoke confidently, "I have a job for you."


End file.
